


injury on radar

by dvrbanskies



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Needles, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Vomiting, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 04:04:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20167846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dvrbanskies/pseuds/dvrbanskies
Summary: Tony pulls the contact up and sighs. It’s Peter. It seems like it’s always Peter; Peter, with a concussion or a burn or a slice that’s just a touch too bad to be able to ignore. Every time Tony sees his face calling it puts him on edge, for good reason. Half the time though, he gets lucky, and it’s just the kid calling about school and a question on his homework he doesn’t quite understand, or asking about the next time he’s able to come over to the lab, about what Pepper wants for her birthday. Half the time he ends the conversation with a pleasant smile on his face and a warm pit in his stomach.Maybe it’s this half,he hopes, and answers the call."I really ought to be thanking you kid," is the first thing Tony says as he picks up the phone, "you would notbelievethe meeting you just saved me from-""Mi-Mis'er S'ark?"Tony froze.Not lucky enough,he thinks,never lucky enough for that half.(or: five times Tony had to find Peter when he was hurt, and the one time he couldn't.)





	injury on radar

**Author's Note:**

> THANK U D'AUNDRA FOR THE TITLE INSPO AND ALL THE HELP WITH EVERYTHING ILY<3
> 
> another fic!! woo!! i started this a little over 4ish months ago, right before the start of my summer vacation and i'm only just now posting the first chapter yikes
> 
> one last thing, please please please heed the tags for this fic for not only this chapter, but future chapters as well. there's nothing at all that's particularity graphic that i go much into detail with, but if the harming and non-consensual drugging of anyone, ESPECIALLY a minor, bothers you know this fic delves into it many times. please take care of yourselves. :) <3

“Stark, are you _sleeping?_”

Tony startles awake from where he had been slumped against his closed fist. “Wha-”

Everyone in the conference room is staring at him, expressions varying from bewilderment to thinly-veiled disgust. Rhodey, seated across the table, is watching Tony with a bemused look on his face.

“No, no, I’ve been listening-” Tony squints at the name tag of the man who called for him, _“-Monroe.”_ He clears his throat roughly.

The faces do not change. One by one, though, they slowly turn away with the slightest shake of their head. Monroe stands tall and center at the head of the table, giving him a dark look. Tony yawns.

“Sorry to be such a bother,” Monroe grits out, “but at the very least, consider the fact that other people may want to actually listen.” He raises a challenging eyebrow, as if daring Tony to have a retort- he doesn’t, he just stares at him blankly instead.

With that, he begins speaking again like nothing ever happened, aside from the newfound tenseness in his shoulders. Tony glances over to Rhodey, who rolls his eyes- he shrugs, holding his hand up in a _what can you do?_ sort of gesture.

And Tony tries to not doze off again, promise. He tries to pay attention and stay focused and kicks at Rhodey’s legs when he finds himself slipping. Sleep had not been kind to him the past week, and sitting in the world’s most uncomfortable chair while listening to the world’s most boring man drone on is not helpful in any given way.

So he sits quietly and abuses his friend’s poor shins who abuses his back in an attempt to stay awake and not be disruptive.

That is, until, his phone starts ringing.

For the second time that hour, he finds everyone's eyes on him again. Rhodey gives him a particularly hard shove from beneath the table.

But Tony’s not worried- not for that specific reason, that is. No, he’s worried for the fact that his phone is ringing _at all._

He knows for a fact he’d silenced it before the meeting. Muted entirely, except for the few exceptions.

Pepper, Rhodey, Peter, Happy, May. Five contacts, five people who were the only ones capable of pushing through the command of his phone. 

Tony was standing before he even realized what he was doing.

Monroe was red in the face, staring at him incredulously. _“Stark,”_ he barked. “How many times must I _reprimand_ you for your disruptions-”

“Sorry, Mon, gotta take this.”

He was out the door. Vaguely, he was aware of Monroe spluttering angrily behind him, coughing something out about _rudeness_ and _unfathomable unprofessionalism,_ of Rhodey following him close behind.

They stumble out into the hall together, Tony taking a few steps away from the door in case of any prying ears. Rhodey is giving him an unsettling look of disbelief, settling down on the other wall of the hall looking like he wants to say something, but keeps quiet. He eyes the phone warily.

Tony pulls the contact up and sighs. It’s Peter. It seems like it’s always Peter; Peter, with a concussion or a burn or a slice that’s just a touch too bad to be able to ignore. Every time Tony sees his face calling it puts him on edge, for good reason. Half the time though, he gets lucky, and it’s just the kid calling about school and a question on his homework he doesn’t quite understand, or asking about the next time he’s able to come over to the lab, about what Pepper wants for her birthday. Half the time he ends the conversation with a pleasant smile on his face and a warm pit in his stomach.

_Maybe it’s this half,_ he hopes, and answers the call.

"I really ought to be thanking you kid," is the first thing Tony says as he picks up the phone, "you would not _believe_ the meeting you just saved me from-"

"Mi-Mis'er S'ark?"

Tony froze. He was vaguely aware of Rhodey training a disturbingly keen eye on him from across the hall. _Not lucky enough,_ he thinks, _never lucky enough for that half._

"Pete? Hey, hey what's wrong?" Tony tried to keep the panic from seeping into his voice.

The line went silent, save for the rasp of shaking breaths and quiet static. "C'mon kid, work with me here."

"I-I don't-" There was a hitched breath and then a horrid screech as what sounded like the phone clattered to the ground. A muttered curse, and then he heard, through a lot of crackling and fizzling, Peter's voice, further away. "S'rry, s'rry.”

Tony was staring wide-eyed at Rhodey, who was giving Tony a similar look of alarm. His hand rested over his wrist, clutching tightly above the thin bracelet there, finger grazing the surface of a single button.

"What happened?" He asked steadily. There was no need to allow the panic to tinge his voice, no matter how absolutely frantic Tony felt. Besides, judging by the quick gasps of breath over the phone, Peter was already taking over the position. One of them had to stay calm, and if it was Tony who had to painstakingly pull through, so be it. "Peter, you need to calm down. Tell me what happened."

He saw Rhodey in his peripheral take a hesitant step forward. "Th-there was some _guy,_ I-" Again, Peter cut himself off, the distant sound of retching filtering through his speakers. Tony cringed.

The kid was coughing, heavy, wet hawking sounds that had Tony frowning uneasily. He stayed silent, allowing him to get it all out and calm down. Once the snuffling and scuffles eased, Tony spoke again, frantic.

“C’mon, bud. Tell me what happened.”

Peter went quiet for a while, long enough that Tony began to worry once more, until he spoke up again. “Some guy-” another cough, weak. His voice was strained and slurring slightly. “Goin’ after some girl. ‘Ad a needle, ‘nd I didn’t know what was in it. D’dn’t want her to get hurt…”

“You were stabbed?”

Peter mutters intelligibly over himself before- “Lightly.”

“You were stabbed _lightly,_” Tony mimics, tone incredulous, “with a syringe?”

“I-I think.”

Tony blows air from his nose harshly. Rhodey stares back at him with a set of wide eyes, brows pulled together in a way that’s all too concerned.

"Listen to me, where are you right now?

"Alley- I-I think."

Tony struggled to think.

"Okay. You need to get out of there. It's gonna be hard, but I need you to get up high for me, okay? Up onto a rooftop." Peter groaned. "I know bud, I'm sorry."

If Peter had been in an alleyway, throwing up, his mask had to have been removed. He was left vulnerable, left exposed, and if how lethargic he sounded over the phone was anything to go by, there was no chance he'll be able to properly defend himself either.

As if on cue, Peter started puking again. Tony didn’t want to begin thinking of the possibilities of what happened. The idea of anything being capable of handicapping the kid this badly was frightening beyond anything Tony thought he’d have to experience.

“Kid, I’m coming for you now, okay?” Tony reassured. “You’re fine, okay?”

Peter groaned out something unintelligible.

Tony pulled the phone from his ear, turning to Rhodey frantically. Before he could request anything though, the man was talking with a note of panic in his voice. “What’s going on? You need backup?”

He looked seconds away from pressing the button that would activate and send the War Machine suit his way. Tony shook his head. “Something happened with the kid. He’s been drugged up pretty hard with something, I’m not sure though- he sounds rough. I can’t stay here.”

Rhodey was already nodding. “Yeah, go man. I’ll keep Monroe off your ass, don’t worry.”

Tony grinned. “You’re the best, Platypus.”

With that, Tony presses his hand to his chest, relishing in the feeling of the Iron Man armour folding over his skin. It spreads easily across his jacket and dress pants, crawling down his back and around his limbs until he’s completely encased in the suit. He sends one last grateful look over to Rhodey before he slips the mask over his face and speeds down the hall.

Tony goes to link the call from his phone to his suit, but pauses as nothing happens. Quiet, it was quiet- Tony scoffs. The call was disconnected.

“Call Peter’s phone again, FRIDAY.”

There was a short moment of tense silence before-

_“I’m sorry boss, he appears to not be picking up his phone.”_ FRIDAY seemed apologetic, and Tony briefly thought about forcing his call through for the hell of it, but decided it would be a waste of time on his part, especially when he was supposed to be on the lookout for the kid in the first place.

Tony sighs. "FRIDAY, pull up Mark 17A vitals."

The display of his suit becomes alight with bars and bars of data. Light danced across his face as he watched the input dropping and rising in harsh streaks across his very eyes. _High heart rate. Extremely low blood pressure. Rising temperature._

Nothing good, nothing good at all.

“What’s our ETA, FRI?”

_“With the speed you’re at right now boss, you could make it to Mr. Parker’s location in approximately ten minutes.”_

Tony upped his thrusters.

_“Six minutes.”_

Good enough.

He kept an eye on Peter’s vials the entire flight, a small screen residing in the corner of his vision. They were as good as Tony could hope them to be, not entirely stable but not dropping rapidly into dangerously vital zones. Every couple seconds his eyes would still flicker to the data however, too paranoid to believe there wasn’t a chance that at any moment they would tank and tank until there wasn’t a chance for Tony to _fix this._

He’s still felt uneasy since the end of the phone call. A part of him wanted to think it was Peter and his newfound streak of aching rebellion towards Tony’s newfound protectiveness, refusing to pick up in order to prove some profound point. But he knew better, he wasn’t blissfully oblivious to the painful truth, to the pain and hurt and _fear_ in Peter’s voice when he had called. A growing panic had been collecting in his gut since his first step out into the hall at the first tone of his phone, a hard knot he’s been unsuccessfully trying to choke down since. 

Tony flew closer to the rooftops of dingy apartment buildings and run down pavement than he normally would, especially in broad daylight. The people in the streets seemed significantly dwindled from what he was used to though, from the lurking shadowy clouds overhead or just the general depopulation of the area, Tony couldn't tell. Only the fewest of people walked by him, barely sparing him a glance, something he felt exceptionally grateful for.

As the mini-map showed Tony beginning to close in on the blinking tracker, he slowed his speed down a little, dipping close against the paneling on roofs, his boots grazing over the tips of chimneys and foundation. In his haste, he almost completely passed the building of what appeared to be closest to Peter’s location.

Tony dropped onto the rooftop, _hard._ The concrete beneath his feet splintered and cracked, but he didn't care- no, what he cared about right now was the fact that Peter was _not_ on the building he had half-smashed into, nor any of the surrounding rooftops he could see. Checking the blinking radar of the suit’s tracker, Tony confirmed that he was in the right area. He brought himself down into the shadowed alleyway to his right slowly.

"Kid, I thought I told you to get your ass up on the roof-” Tony grunted as he dropped into the alleyway below, half expecting to see the kid in all his undwindling energy. _Hoping_ that whatever had happened was all a hoax, that it was a minor setback, an unexpected blip in the kid’s patrol that caught him off guard for only the duration of the phone call he made to Tony.

Tony’s luck never seemed to go very far, anyways.

Peter was lying half-crumpled in on himself. Flat on his back, he was still, arms sprawled out at his sides. He was laid out beside a dumpster, the dingy metal stained with a bloody hand print that was smudged down, like whoever was there had leaned up against it to support themselves, but ended up sliding down to the floor anyways. A quick look at Peter and- of course, of fucking course- his left hand was glinting wetly in the sunlight.

“Pete,” Tony gasps, dropping to his knees beside him. He clasps his shoulder, shaking roughly. “Kid, come on, _Peter._”

The kid was shivering all over, Tony realized now that he was closer, deep tremors that wracked his small frame. Fumbling for the front of Tony’s suit, he grips tight enough to tear the fabric, looking utterly terrified.

“Mi-Mis’er-”

Tony shushed him gently as the kid fell into a coughing fit that looked and sounded too painful to bare. Once Peter began to calm down, Tony leaned forward and took his head in his hands, ignoring the way the kid was staring up at him in wide-eyed confusion. His gaze was hazy, pupils blown wide even in the overbearing light that found its way into the alleyway.

Shit.

“FRIDAY, run diagnostics.”

As a blue light swallowed them, Tony stayed right beside Peter, carding one hand through the kid’s hair and allowing his other to be clenched in a too-tight grip.

_“Boss,”_ FRIDAY speaks in his ear, _“Mr. Parker seems to have been injected with a substance that is currently not in my database. I’m afraid I am unable to tell entirely what it is.”_

Tony tries his hardest to not let the dread swallow him whole. Peter has his eyes clenched tight, the grip on Tony’s wrist tighter.

_“If I may intervene,”_ FRIDAY says quietly, _“My sensors detect the exact substance still in the vial it was depressed from, about seven feet behind you. May I suggest bringing it with you back to the tower to try for an antidote?”_

Peter’s face was pale. He pries the hand clasping his wrist away as gently as possible, settling him to the ground- Peter does not move a muscle.

Tony stands, gaze flickering around until he eventually catches sight of it at the mouth of the alley- a syringe, emptied of its contents, needle broken off completely and glass vial cracked. Beside it, Peter’s phone, screen a spider web of fine cracks and shatters.

Frowning down at it, Tony picked up the syringe. He examined closely, giving a careful eye at the blunt tip where the needle part had seemingly snapped off. Pocketing the offending weapon and ruined phone, Tony turns around and heads back towards where he had left Peter on the concrete.

He crouches down by Peter’s side once more, eyeing up and down his body warily until- _Jesus._ Tony sees it, he sees the needle plunged deep into the kid’s upper right arm, glinting dangerously. Blood dots up around the wound, slipping down his suit and across the cement and how did Tony not notice before?

Peter chooses that moment to be sick again; he gags quietly as Tony hurries to pull him up with the arm that doesn’t have a needle impaled in it. Coughing weakly, the kid fumbles with Tony’s cuffs of his suit. He allows it, ignoring the sick and blood staining the pristine white; it didn’t matter, Tony didn’t think he’d ever be able to wear this suit again anyways.

Peter starts murmuring again, shaky fingers slipping against the silk. “‘M s’rry, didn’t wanna call, K’ren made me…”

Tony shushed him again. “Stop. Don’t apologize.” _Wait._ “What do you mean Karen _made_ you?”

“L’nked to my phone,” Peter coughs a little, and Tony feels a seize in his chest at the tinge of blood on his teeth, “t-told ‘er not to… Didn’t wanna in-interrupt.”

Tony stares down at Peter’s face in utter bewilderment. He didn’t want to _interrupt him?_ The thought of the AI in Peter’s suit not forcing through a call to Tony, leaving the kid here passed out and drugged, scares him a little too much to dwell on the matter too long.

Peter lets his head fall back against Tony’s thigh with a groan, eyes slipping shut.

“FRI?” Tony murmurs, running a hand through Peter’s hair, slicking it back away from his sweaty forehead. “The hell should I do about this needle?”

_“My recommendation would be to leave the needle in place for the time being. It is currently staunching blood flow and can prove fatal if removed without urgent care.”_

“Huh.”

_“In other case scenarios, it would be of best interest to promptly remove the needle, as there is the chance any remaining solution can be dislodged and injected and can lead to accidental overdose if strong enough. However, since the plunger and barrel of the syringe have been removed entirely, it is safest for Mr. Parker to leave it where it is for now.”_

So leave the needle in the arm. Okay. Okay, Tony could work with that.

“Alright, kid,” Tony works his arms beneath Peter’s, shifting them slowly up into sitting positions, “up you go.”

“FRIDAY,” Tony says, “let Bruce know what’s going on and that we’re on our way.”

_“Already done, boss.”_

Tony grins. Shifting Peter in his arms so he’s positioned in a way to lessen the jostling to his arm, he painstakingly wriggles an arm free and presses the hand to his chest. Immediately, the suit begins to spread across his body, fanning out across his chest and down his torso in a flash of red and gold. The metal quickly encases Tony’s arms, and with it Peter’s weight dissipates into almost nothing with the help of the armor.

Scanning the alleyway for anything else that he could’ve missed, Tony hefted him further up into his arms, wincing at the pained huffed the kid let out against his chest where his face was pressed. “Sorry, kid,” he muttered sullenly, bracing his body still so he could slowly activate his thrusters and hover into the air.

Making sure one last time that Peter was properly secured, Tony burst into the sky, ignoring the fascinated glances from the people below and began the flight back to the Compound.

  


As it turned out, the syringe and whatever was held in it wasn’t as big of a threat as Tony was expecting it to be. As soon as Tony had arrived at the Compound, Peter secured in his arms and vial of the syringe pressed in his hand in a tight grip, the kid was immediately whisked away. At some point during the flight, he had passed out, a feat which had Tony absolutely panicking until FRIDAY had reassured him Peter’s vitals hadn’t dipped any lower than they were before, and that it was better for the kid to start sleeping it off now before all the nurses got their hands on him.

All the doctors that were once waiting for their arrival rushed away, leaving a disgruntled Bruce in their place. Tony was quick to hand over the leftover syringe, explaining the situation and all the symptoms when prompted. _Confusion. Nausea. Tremors. Slurred speech. Not to mention all the blood from the fucking stab wound._

Bruce had nodded, seemingly satisfied, telling Tony he would keep him updated before disappearing down into the infirmary like everyone else. Tony was left alone once again.

It didn’t occur to Tony to ask about going with Peter to the infirmary, nor to ask Bruce how bad the whole situation seemed; the thought made Tony panic a little, for what if he had avoided telling him entirely because of the exact situation Peter _wasn’t_ okay? What if he’d rather whisk the kid away so that the worst of whatever the fuck was in the syringe could pass by without Tony being a witness of such?

Tony shook the thoughts from his head. No, Bruce was good. He didn’t beat around the bush when the case was serious and was never hesitant in telling the injuries just how they were. If Bruce genuinely felt this whole thing was a lost cause, he would’ve told him- at least, that’s what Tony wanted to think. It was different with Peter, _everything_ was different with Peter.

Standing in the infirmary waiting room fighting back the instinct to pace paths into the carpet was a waste of time. He had to get somewhere, he had to distract himself, and he had to get out of this fucking ruined suit. Tony briefly considered forcing himself right back into the infirmary with Bruce and all the other nurses.

Instead, Tony headed for the lab.

Once he was behind the safety of the double glass doors, he immediately shucked the suit. Jacket, undershirt, and pants were tossed straight into the disposal bin by the sink, where Tony was busy scrubbing his hands raw, forcing his gaze away from where the water washed away pink.

He pulled on the extra tee shirt and jeans he had prepared in an extra drawer, meant for the night’s he would compulsively spend in the lab, and headed straight for a desk with old Iron Man gear and parts strewn across it. Right now he couldn’t bring himself to do more than fiddle, he didn’t think his mind would let itself not wander for anything more important.

It couldn’t have been more than an hour later when FRIDAY alerted him while he was in the midst of breaking down an old piece of his repulsor.

_“Boss, Doctor Banner has requested your presence in the infirmary.”_

Tony hadn’t needed to be told twice- immediately setting down the screwdriver in his hand, he started heading for the set of doors. The panic that had settled down started to come back with a vengeance, and Tony found himself pausing.

“FRIDAY?” he asked after a moment. “Bruce, down in the infirmary, does he seem-” Tony gestured around helplessly, cringing up at the ceiling, _“-okay?”_

There was a second of hesitation, and Tony prepared for the worst. _“Yes, both Doctor Banner and Mr. Parker seem perfectly well.”_

The pressure in his chest dissipated. Tony nodded, continuing down the hall with an easy breath.

When Tony arrived, he peered through the frosted windows of the door tentatively- Bruce was standing over a sink in the corner of the room, washing his hands. To his right, Peter was seated on a thin mattress. Propped up against a plethora of pillows, the blood and sick cleaned from his face and his right arm bandaged thoroughly, the kid was rambling to Bruce about something excitedly. The Iron Spider suit was removed entirely, leaving Peter in a light-colored hospital gown that hung down low off his shoulders.

Tony took in a deep breath at the sight of Peter awake and coherent. The horrors from earlier that day still lingered in his mind, the feeling of blood drying tacky on his fingers and the uncomfortable wetness of his suit sleeves clung to his skin. The suit that currently resided in his lab’s trash can further proved such. 

Seeing Peter awake, seeing Peter _okay,_ sent such a sobering rush of relief through Tony it left him swaying. Watching the kid talk off Bruce’s ear, albeit a little pale with the hospital gown and pristine bandages washing him out even further, had him standing there, simply watching, an uncomfortable thought blasting through his mind all of a sudden- _Tony could never let something like this happen again._ He didn’t think he could handle another scare like what came from today, Peter’s still body when Tony had arrived in the alley was an image that would surely follow him in his nightmares. Having the panicky adrenaline thrumming through his veins as he raced to the Compound, Peter’s limp body in his arms, was an experience Tony could live without occurring a second time.

With that newfound thought running through his mind- _never again, never again, never again_\- Tony nodded. Someone had to look out for the kid, and Tony seemed to be the only one volunteering to be stepping up into that position. So be it.

Tony took a deep breath before straightening and walking through the door.

**Author's Note:**

> this chap is a lil weird, i'm just now realizing peter like.... barely talks dfjhsdkjfhdsk next chapter's already almost finished and lemme tell yall.. there is gonna be a whole lot more hurt and a whole lot more comfort on tony's part - be ready for the next upcoming chapters to be a lot more heavy with the whump B) this was only the beginning.. 
> 
> hope you guys liked the first chapter!! <3


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